I Don’t Know… Newtown Blues

orcasbarnDust motes, dropped from stars to earth,
formed into clay, small golems of hope,
Dylans and Chases, Madeleines and Anas.

And others.
So many others.

Dust finds water, binds, then…

draws water from others, when it breaks, when it shatters,
when it fades from sight, but never from memory.

Forms dew that burns up in the heat
of this terrible dawn.


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